Three days in bed and two trying to walk again. Lydia groaned in dissatisfaction. Giving birth really did her in this time. An image of the dead child flashed in her mind but she quickly smothered it with William's face. He was the most handsome, the most agreeable, and the friendliest gentleman she has ever met. And now she believed she was in love with him. The only problem, of course, was money. If she could marry Will, she would agree to it with all her heart, but why would he want a poor woman like her? She had no money, no inheritance, not even a stable home. No one will consent to a union with her in such a state. A beggar himself will turn away in disgust. Curse her foolishness in running away from home. Curse her husband for fooling her. But now it was too late. She will only be able to remarry, if anyone will take her, after her husband's death. It was all useless. Memories of William helping her walk in the park the first day she got out of bed flashed in her mind. He was so strong and yet so gentle. She could still feel his arm around her waist and her hand, supporting her, helping her up when her knees went weak, and carrying her when they failed. And all that time they laughed. She hadn't been that happy since she left Longbourn.

Longbourn, it was now a dead residence inhabited only by spiders and rats, overgrown with ivy. For a moment, Lydia felt very alone. But that moment was gone when she heard William's voice. It was time for a walk.

The day outside was beautiful and the skies were clear. To Lydia it felt almost like heaven. William was holding her by her hand, supporting her, and a walking stick was in her other. She felt very much alive and full of energy. If only it would last. Soon she would have to go home and face once again her terrible living and her awful husband. It wasn't a cheery thought, but one that plagued her mind more often these days.

"William," she finally said, "What will you do after I have gone?"

They walked in silence for a while before he answered.

"Chase after you, I suppose." he said with slight amusement. "I haven't got anything else to do." A wide grin spread across his handsome face.

"You jest!" cried Lydia and gently pushed him away, all the while laughing. "I don't believe you!"

Will only smiled mysteriously. "But I have come to love you, Lydia. I don't how I would live without you." Lydia laughed, fearing to take the comment as serious.

"I can prove it." he said as he stopped. Lydia looked up into his face. There was an certain earnestness in his face that frightened her though she knew not why. In the next moment, he leaned down toward her face and their lips met. It was the sweetest things Lydia has ever experienced, but remembering her position and situation, she suddenly pushed herself away from him. This surprised William and he was slightly annoyed.

"I'm sorry." He said. Lydia shook her head in denial.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Lydia was in her bedroom when the realization of what had happened in the park hit her. William really did love her! But then…no, he must surely have only been joking around. She dared not raise her hopes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. Thinking it was William, she turned away from the door, fearing embarrassment. But it was only a maid.

"Ma'am, there is a letter here for you." She said as all maids do. Lydia looked at the maid, surprise written all over her face. A letter? For her? From who? Then she remembered the letter that she now realized had mysteriously disappeared. She had not thought of it since the day she put it on the bed side table.

The maid handed Lydia the letter, bowed slightly and quit the room. Lydia looked at the letter, mesmerized. Her hands were shaking slightly as she opened it. The handwriting was neat and it was written in straight lines. She skimmed to the bottom and saw, to her amazement, that is was from no other than Darcy himself. This was a great surprise to her. How could Darcy know where she was when she herself didn't have a clear idea of her location? At that point, William came in, saw her with a letter and was about to leave when Lydia stopped him. She held the letter up and asked him if he knew anything of it. He nodded.

"As soon as I found out who you were I decided to write and tell of your location and well being. And since you despised Wickham so much, I thought it would be wiser on my part to write to Fitzwilliam as he is a good and trusted friend." He looked into Lydia's eyes, trying to read her feelings. "I hope there are no grudges against my good friend Fitzwilliam in your heart. I should feel awful if I let your enemy know of your whereabouts."

Lydia laughed and assured him that she felt no prejudices against Darcy… Fitzwilliam, she had never heard him called by that name, but she liked the sound of it. Fitzwilliam, she silently named her dead son.

"Have you read the letter?"

"No, I got it not a few moments ago."

"Then I shall leave you to it."

Lydia nodded, then, remembering something else, asked him, "What of the letter that I wrote to Lizzy?"

"Of that I do not know." With that, he bowed and left. Lydia looked down at the letter and began to read. It read as follows:

My dear Sister,

I am pleased that you are well and under care of a good friend. I am, though, sorry to hear about your mother. The loss has been grieved much in this part of family as well.

Included in this letter is some amount to get you to Pemberly where my dear Elizabeth wishes to see you. We only ask that you arrive before the 13th of June. There is no need to bring anything, nor anyone. Though, of course you may, if you wish, bring William, for I would rather like to see him since we have not talked for a long time.

We are expecting you soon,

F. Darcy

Lydia stared at the letter, unwilling to believe it. Expecting her, at Pemberly no less. Told her not to bring anything. Sending her money! This was an unexpected turn of events.

"Oh, William!" she cried. He appeared in her doorway, fearing the worst. But seeing the gleeful expression on her face relived him.

"We're going to Pemberly!" was all she could exclaim. William looked at her, unable to comprehend a word she said. A few seconds passed before he was able to answer.

"Pemberly?" he asked. Lydia nodded.

"Mr. Darcy wrote this letter to me, he invited us to come to his house! Oh, William, I could jump with joy!" and she did indeed jumped up from her bed, raced over to William, and wrapped her arms tightly around him. "Will, you have brought nothing but happiness in my life." and, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "I would marry you if that indeed was possible. I love you with my whole heart!" Her face pressed against his chest and she felt her cheeks grow hot and could just imagine how red they must be. But instead of pushing her away from him as Lydia expected, William pulled her closer to him, whispering words of affection in her ear. She was startled and she considered breaking the embrace herself, but something inside her stopped her. In an instant, Darcy was forgotten, Pemberly was forgotten, all was forgotten in William's embrace. Then, just as suddenly as it happened, it ended. Clearing his throat, William gently pried Lydia's fingers from his shirt and took a step back. Lydia made to move for him, but he stopped her with a motion of his hand. She turned away, embarrassed. William felt a sharp pain in his chest. There, he thought, he had hurt her. It took all his will power to keep his hands from slipping around her waist. He should have never picked her up, he thought. This will cause him many sleepless nights.

It was more or less a restless night. The whiskey bottle was on the floor, dripping on the cheap carpeting, Lara was gone, and now, he was here alone, trying to discern one thought from the other. Damn alcohol he thought. It was bad enough that he was addicted to it, but now he had no money to get more. Not a shilling. His fist hit the desk, but his hand was too weak and made no impact on the table. His vision was blurred and the room swam. Where the devil was Lydia? He hadn't had a decent meal since she had gone. No doubt she was now somewhere entertaining herself. He snorted in disgust. All she ever was able to talk about was money and parties. Telling him to get some when she herself does nothing at home. His fist hit the table again, this time more effectively. Wickham sighed. Damn Lydia, damn money, damn Darcy, damn life. His stomach gave another lurch and before he knew it, he was on the floor in violent convulsions. What seemed like hours passed before he was able to breathe again. He lay on the floor, taking large gulps of air, his hand clutching his chest. The thought of dying this way crossed his mind. What a sad way to pass.

It was late the next night when Wickham awoke. There was a moment where he was not aware of his surroundings, and then he heard a knock on the door. He made a move to get up, but his body refused to respond.

"Who is it?" he managed to croak out. There was a pause. Then an oddly familiar male voice answered.

"Wickham, if you are not too drunk to get up, I would appreciate if you opened the door."

Wickham lay motionless on the floor, contemplating. After a few moments he replied,

"It's unlocked." he said. The door opened and a man in an expensive looking suit came in. The face was blurred to the point where Wickham could not discern the features, but the voice sounded too familiar. He just couldn't place it at the moment.

Darcy opened the door but almost immediately shut it closed again. The sight before him offended his very soul and the name of God himself. Wickham was on the floor; clothe less, obviously drunk, his torso covered in bodily fluids. The sight of it all made him sick to his stomach. But despite his disgust, Darcy walked over to him and, removing his jacket first, attempted to get Wickham up. It was a tough job, but he finally managed to get him into a chair. He then proceeded to find a glass, perhaps a bucket, of cold water. Darcy called for one and it promptly arrived. Taking it in his hands, he dumped the whole things onto Wickham's head. Wickham was sobered in a matter of seconds.

"What the devil do you think you are doing!" he shouted, jumping up from his chair. Darcy pushed him back in.

"I need to talk to you. And you need to understand what I say." he replied. Wickham sat back down, looking mistrustfully at Darcy.

"What do you want?"

"First, I want to tell you that your wife has been found. I'm sure you don't care, but she is well and in the hands of a trusted friend."

Wickham snorted.

"Trusted friend? You don't mean to tell me she in the hands of William the God himself?" he laughed crudely. Darcy ignored the comment.

"Second," he instead continued, "You are an heir." The words shut Wickham up in an instant.

"An heir?" he repeated carefully, thinking that he had misheard Darcy.

"Yes, as hard as it is to believe that, you are an heir. There was an advertisement in the local paper not a few days ago posted by a man who has been seeking any life relatives who share his last name. Wickham."

Wickham stared at Darcy, daring to believe his ears. But then he realized who he was talking to.

"I can smell a lie a mile away." he said. Darcy smiled sardonically.

"Then your sense of smell is in very bad shape. I don't lie, Wickham. That is one of the big differences between you and me."

Wickham did not reply. It was all so sudden, so unexpected, and so… so… so deliciously sweet! "How much?" he asked. Darcy shook his head.

"That is up to your relative to decide. But for now, I would…" Darcy paused, "I would wish you to come with me. Elizabeth would like your presence at our ball. Your wife will be there."

"Lydia?" Wickham asked, absentminded.

"Yes, Lydia. If you had enough brains, you would remember that I told that she has been found and has been taken care of."

Wickham nodded. "Ah, yes of course. I recall that." He smiled at Darcy.

"Come, Wickham. I wish not to lose more time. It is late as it is." Then, as if just remembered, he added with mild distaste, "I ordered another carriage for you." and undertone: "Not even a pig would sit next to you."

Wickham got up shakily, went into his room, donned on some clothing, and then followed Darcy out the door. "An heir!" he said to himself in amazement.